[SE] Catch the Sun Before It Sparks Afire

I am my mother's child, I'll love you till my breathing stops
I'll love you till you call the cops on me

Melita had always been an eager, ardent listener; whether they were her mother’s stories, passed down by word of mouth, legends and intrigue, ghosts of the past, or simply tales woven by fey, she was cast into an enraptured legion. Even if Jigano shrugged off the notion of gods and their bestowals, the girl’s eyes lifted to the skies, to the heavens, where her favored god had once lived, beneath the dance and days of a different world, a different time, a different place. Something in the intonation stung – maybe because none of the ones here ever seemed to see her, to know her, and blessings had never been forthcoming upon her; only the notions and convictions she implored upon herself. “Interesting,” she hummed under her breath, for it was, that she couldn’t deny. “Sometimes our gods granted magic. Or items. I was never lucky enough.” Here she laughed, as if to pass it off as something else, closing her eyes against the sudden torment of blazes, of infernos, of cinders, ash, and darkness. At the very least, the bard’s attention was diverted elsewhere, before she slipped even further into melancholy for things she couldn’t have – ever again – gaze shifting to Fangorn. “Well, he seems to prefer meat.” She shrugged there, the wisps of a foolish smile entangling themselves along her mouth; she’d never offered anything else to the gourd – it seemed like a sacrilege to even think of granting him vegetables, and the flesh of an animal in her pockets had been the reason he’d been coaxed to go along with her in the first place. She didn’t bother to mull over it any longer as the water filled and splashed along her mug, lifting it to her lips and gulping half of it down in one satisfying slurp, feeling it pool its way down her throat and into her stomach. Refreshing. Uplifting. More than she deserved. “Thank you,” the youth hastened thereafter, beatific smile warm and grand again. Wanting to know everything might’ve made her shy away, some distinctive aspects were overwhelming and reverberated in her soul, kept under lock and key until they were a necessity, until they were more than a blurred picture in her mind, an echo, a fragment, of yesteryear. While he disappeared, her gaze roamed, settling on her beloved gourd as he ducked around her ankles, as she wondered how she’d gotten to this moment. The last time she’d spilled anything, it had been disastrous and in anger, a riot of vexation churned directly at Kiada, the wounds still too fresh, too raw, too poignant and haunting, worlds gone in the blink of an eye, families broken, mothers and sisters dead and gone – the gaping, blackened hole of her heart, the desolation and despair threatening to tear her asunder if left to her own devices for too long. But then he returned, proffering the bench, the apples, and with the mug in her hands, she drifted down upon the rough wood, fingers wrapping around the resin as a stronghold for her heart. “I’m from Helovia,” she started, stare fixating on fence lines, posts, and beams, on blackened feathers of furtive crows, before sliding back to him, a grin enlightened on her face while she could consider the better parts of her early days. “I was born in the Dragon’s Throat: a kingdom renowned for its Sun God, deserts, cliffs, and oasis. It was always warm, always bright.” M e l i t a But in our darkest hours, I stumbled on a secret power I'll find a way to be without you, babe